Breaking the Mold
by LeggoMyMeggo92
Summary: "She's different, Mags. She's not like the others, I think she could actually be a really big asset to us." He explained and the elderly victor nodded dubiously. "I'm serious! She's smart and dedicated and loyal. To her, the Games are just a meal ticket. She sees what tributes go through, she saw what happened to me and…she knows how horrible it is." AU Pre-QQ, Finnick/OC
1. The Bad News

Desdemona Spire was running late the morning she heard the news. She was always running late these days. The Bid was taking up most of her time.

She burst into the large café, glancing around for her cousin, Cressida, who she found sitting casually at a table by the far window. Desdemona shifted her bag further up her shoulder and strode over, the heels of her flats clacking on the tile floor. Cressida rose and greeted her cousin warmly.

"I am so sorry I'm late!" Desdemona apologized, returning her cousin's hug. The two had been trying to meet for weeks, but Desdemona had kept rescheduling due to work.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad we got to meet. There's something rather important I want to talk to you about." Cressida explained coolly, but there was a hint of mystery to her voice that intrigued Desdemona. Before she could ask for specifics, the server stopped by the table and Desdemona ordered a cappuccino. Cressida was halfway through a cup of black coffee already.

"I love what you did with your hair!" Desdemona commented, noting the half-shaved look was very in right now. Perhaps she could get Emett to try it with one of the victors this year.

"Thank you! I'm thinking about adding some tattoos. How are things in the victor fashion industry?" Cressida smiled her demure smile at her lovely cousin. Desdemona ran a hand through her long auburn hair, which was offset by her incredibly bright blue eyes and pale skin.

"Ugh! Don't get me started! First of all, since Seneca Crane is becoming Head Gamemaker, we're going to have to put in a bid this year. My mother wants me to do it, can you believe that?! She's going to retire and hand over the reins to me," she quickly explained, taking a sip of her cappuccino after the waitress dropped it off, "And since it's my first year, not only do I have to present it to President Snow, I have to do boys and girls fashions! That's why I've been so busy lately. It's because I'm new and he wants to test me; claims it's policy but that's total crap. So you know what I did?"

Her mother, Calpurnia, at the ripe old age of forty-seven, had decided to retire after twenty-three years as the stylist for District Four in the annual Hunger Games. Upon her retirement she would resume her position at her fashion house that she ran with the assistance of her son, Augustus, while Desdemona would run The Hunger Games portion of the business.

"What did you do?"

"I offered to personally tailor a suit for President Snow!" Desdemona bragged and Cressida's jaw dropped. Desi had always been known in the family for her impulsiveness, but this one could actually lose her the better portion of her mother's business.

"You did not!"

"I did! Crane couldn't believe it. He tried to talk me out of it but I insisted. Gus and I have been at it for six days! This was the first time I've left the office since our meeting." Desdemona took more frantic sips, trying to refuel as quickly as possible before heading back to the office.

"Well I don't want to keep you,"

"No, no, no, no, no! You are a most welcome distraction, my dear cousin! Now let's eat lunch and talk about something other than my big mouth." Desdemona interrupted Cressida and put on a comically strained smile.

Cressida had just opened her mouth to respond when the Capitol Theme blasted over the sound system and Caesar Flickerman's lime-tinged face appeared on screens around the café. Desdemona thought he looked as if he had disturbing news to share, and not just because his face was green.

And she was right.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Caesar Flickerman, here to deliver…most upsetting news from District Four."

Desdemona's heart leapt into her throat and her thoughts raced to Finnick. As far as she knew Finnick was still in the Capitol, but he would come and go as he saw fit with little to no warning.

"Desi? You're pale." Cressida placed a hand over her cousin's, who shushed her as her eyes were locked on the screen. Indeed, the entire café seemed to be holding its breath along with her.

"At nine forty three this morning, our beloved Victor Annie Cresta was involved in a most unfortunate sailing accident. She did not survive." Caesar's eyes welled with tears and he dabbed them away with a flourish of his hand. "President Snow has declared that flags be flown at half mast to mark the passing of this heroic young woman, and is planning a memorial service for tomorrow in the Victor's Square."

After that, Desdemona stopped listening. She had known Annie; her mother's partner Tress had been Annie's stylist. But she hadn't really _known_ her. What her favorite color had been. The names of her parents. If she had any siblings. What she had known was how much Annie meant to Finnick.

She knew all of those seemingly trivial things about Finnick (his favorite color was light blue; His parents were Johann and Selene, his mother was deceased; one younger brother, Shell, should be around eighteen by now). By virtue of her apprenticeship with her mother, she had been in Finnick's proximity for the better part of nine years. For this reason (and a few others), they had gravitated toward each other and now Desdemona could feel the pull more than usual. She threw down some cash and apologized to her cousin, bustling out of the café just as quickly as she had bustled in.

She took the next train to the Victor's Square stop and rolled her eyes at the small group of "mourners" who were already starting to gather there. This usually happened after the death of a victor, but this one was different. Annie had won the Hunger Games a mere three years ago, so the wounds the Capitol felt were relatively fresh. A pang of guilt hit her in the gut as she entered the lobby of Finnick's apartment building and proceeded to the elevator.

She'd always loved this building. Like the rest of the Victor's Square, it was an old neoclassical structure but with modern glass accents. It was meant for Victors' use only, but with her status as a stylist she could access the building. The elevator stopped at the second-highest floor and she got out, practically sprinting down the carpeted hallway to Finnick's door.

She pounded on the door, "Finnick! Finnick, please tell me you're in there!" she shouted through the door. Her worry abated when she heard slow, shuffling footsteps approaching the door.

The door opened slowly, a morose-faced Finnick leaning against it as if it was the only thing holding him upright. His sea-green eyes met her sparkling blue ones and she entered his apartment without an invitation, throwing her arms around his neck. This was quite an accomplishment, as he was a full head taller than she was. He closed the door and stood there, uncomfortably accepting Desi's hug.

"I'm so sorry Finnick." She said into his chest.

"Are you done?" he asked irritably. She let go and took a step back, looking at him confusedly. "What?"

"Um…I thought you could use a hug?" she said, raising her voice at the end of her sentence, but not in the annoying Capitol way. In fact, she had the lightest Capitol accent Finnick had ever heard, only affecting certain words.

"Why? Because my girlfriend was murdered?" He walked deeper into his lavish apartment, heading straight for the bar.

"What? No, Finnick, it was a sailing accident! Caesar said - " She followed him, shouting after him to make sure she was heard.

"Oh, come on, Desdemona! You cannot _possibly_ be that naïve!" He shouted back at her, grabbing a bottle of spiced rum and pouring himself a glass, slamming the bottle down when he was done.

"But who could've…" she trailed off, the pieces falling together in her mind as Finnick stared at her expectantly, "Oh God…" Her eyes widened as she remembered the news he had shared with her not three days ago. He had decided to propose to Annie, but needed to end his unseemly career before he felt comfortable marrying her, so he'd met with the President. Apparently it did not go well.

"Yeah. I try to back out of the game, argue my point that I've made him a lot of money over the years and have more than done my duty…" he downed the glass and poured another. Desi crossed the room and put a hand on his wrist to stop him from downing another.

"Finnick…is there anything I can do?" She had thought about denying his involvement but she knew exactly how ruthless President Snow could be.

He looked at her, this wonderful, beautiful, incredibly surprising woman who had been his friend for nearly a decade, and saw the concern etched on her face. What had he done to deserve a friend like her?

"Have a drink with me." He said. It wasn't a question or a request, more like a hope. Desdemona briefly thought of all the work that awaited her back at Spire Fashions and that she couldn't really afford to take an afternoon off to get drunk with her friend; hell, she could barely afford the time it had taken to met with Cressida and yet here she was, completely derailed from her original purpose.

"One drink." She said firmly as they retreated to the bedroom; the one room in the apartment that didn't have a screen blaring the details of Annie's life and showing highlights of her Games and Victory Tour. Finnick brought with him the bottle of rum and Desi momentarily wondered why he bothered with a glass. Her heart ached for him, wishing there was something she could say or do to make it all better but knowing that this was a crushing blow for him.

"Suit yourself. I plan on having many drinks." His face was dark and his voice even darker as he flicked on the lights of his bedroom. His neatly made four poster bed looked mighty inviting to Desi as she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in nearly a month. The presentation was in three days and as badly as she wanted to get back to the office, she wanted to make sure Finnick didn't drink himself into oblivion even more.

He sat on the floor next to his bed, leaning his back against it with his long legs stretched out in front of him. Desi sat next to him and sipped her drink, unsure of what to say. Perhaps all he needed was for someone to be present.

"So…how's the bid coming?" he asked conversationally.

"Finn, we don't have to talk if you don't want to." Her voice holding a gentle tone that he wasn't used to hearing from her.

"I could use the distraction. Please."

She sighed, "The bid is going well. We've got our models signed on already and Gus is about ready to blow a gasket over how much I'm spending on this special fabric from District Eight, but I told him that Snow will expect the best, so the best is what we will give him."

"Why would Snow care about the fabric you use? As long as it looks good I don't think he gives a rat's ass if it's special or not."

"I forgot to mention that I'm…custom tailoring a suit for President Snow." She said quietly, bashfully sipping her drink.

"What? Why?"

She lowered the glass and looked at his incredibly handsome face, seeing a fair amount of concern crease his noble brow.

"He doesn't think I have what it takes, so I'm going to show him that I do." She explained with a half-hearted shrug.

Finnick let out a frustrated sigh, "Are you kidding me? Snow doesn't like playing games, Desi. He likes winning. If you show him up he'll – "

"Show him up? I'm trying to impress him, not beat him! I'm trying to instill in him the same confidence that he had in my mother's abilities because if I don't, my mother's company and me are dead in the water. We can't live off of the dozen or so commissions we get every year; we need the Games. And I know how horrible and hypocritical that sounds, but until I've got any other options that's where I am." She defended, throwing her arms about in order to make her point.

"I'm not talking about your intentions, I'm talking about his! Being challenged like this has got to piss him off, and when he's pissed at people bad things happen! Things like Annie's accident or my mother's sudden illness. All I'm saying is watch your back."

"I will. You know I will." She said calmly, trying to placate his sudden anger rather than responding with her own.

"I just…I can't lose you too." His voice broke slightly and she could see his eyes getting glassy with tears as he looked down at his hands, setting his jaw.

"Hey," She reached out her hand and lifted his face to meet hers, "You won't ever lose me. Ever." She promised and Finnick could tell that, as far as she was aware, she

was telling the truth. She didn't think that she would fall prey to Snow because her Capitoline heritage somehow made her off-limits. Finnick knew the ugly truth; that no one was safe from Snow, not even his allies.

Instead of ruining her tender display of kindness with the knowledge that Snow could very well kill her at some point in the future, he shifted himself toward her and wrapped her in his arms, burying his face in the nook where her shoulder met her neck. Her hair smelled of jasmine and honey, just like usual. He used the scent to ground himself, panic threatening to carry him away.

Desdemona returned his hug, gripping him tightly. They held each other for a long moment before his grip slackened and he moved back to his original position, picking his drink up off of the carpet and downing it.

"You want to know the worst part about all this?" he asked, and Desi realized he had switched topics back to Annie.

"What?" she asked, blue eyes scanning him intently.

He smirked bitterly, "I can't even mourn her properly. They'll probably expect me to give a speech at her funeral but…I can't let on that she and I were…" he trailed off and her put her small hand over his larger one and squeezed it.

"If you need to talk, I'm a phone call away. Even if you're in District Four, I'll hop on a train and be there as fast as I can."

His smirk turned genuine as he looked at her face. The intercom interrupted before he could thank her, "Mister Odair, your car is downstairs."

"Shit!" he swore and looked over his bed at the clock on the far bedside table. He had a client that afternoon and was nowhere near presentable enough.

"Client?" Desdemona asked, lifting herself to her feet, ready to make her exit.

"Yeah. You should go, I've held you up long enough." He stood as well and placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. Because of his arrangement with President Snow, Finnick was in and out of the Capitol every few months. Desi had only found out about it because her mother had paid him for a night of his time as her sixteenth birthday gift. Naturally, Desi had been horrified to find that her friend was subjected to such flagrant abuse of personal freedom and had refused to sleep with him.

" _Come on, Desi," he said seductively, advancing on her and brushing one hand over her dark red hair while the other drifted to her hip, "I see the way you look at me. You want this. You want me to kiss you…"_

 _She pushed away from him violently, "No!" Hot, angry tears formed in her eyes as she hugged herself, rubbing her arms to ward off an imaginary chill._

" _No?" He stood opposite her, confused. No one had refused him before. He was Finnick Odair, Boy Wonder and Capitol Darling. Women (and a surprising number of men) were constantly prostrating themselves for a minute of his time. But, as usual, Desdemona did not fit into the Capitoline mold._

" _Not like this! Never like this!" She half-yelled at him, holding herself tighter, "If you kiss me, Finnick, it should be because you want to, not because you're being paid to!"_

"Are you coming to the presentation? It's on Thursday at the Tribute Center." Her voice in the here and now snapped him from his reverie.

"What time?" he asked, determined to go see her bid and possibly help sway the vote in her favor. In all his time in the Capitol, he'd never seen anyone work as hard as Desdemona. She deserved to keep her spot as a stylist.

"One o'clock." She answered, one foot out the door but not budging. She wanted to hear his answer.

"I'll be there." He promised, leaning against the door.

"Don't be late! And seriously, Finnick, call me if you need to talk." She insisted one more time, tossing him one last pitying look before striding down the hallway toward the elevator. He watched her go, the movement of her hips causing the fabric of her skirt to swish gracefully against her bare legs.

He shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts he was having for his best friend. She was Capitoline and he was from the Districts; there was no reconciling such fundamental differences. It was why he had pursued Annie. She at least had understood where he came from, his upbringing, what it was like to go hungry, to know the pain of a hard day's work, or to lose everything in a hurricane.

Desdemona was a princess in a golden tower; Annie was the girl next door.

His heart lurched. _Was._

He felt sick as he closed the door, but forced himself to put on a smile. He had a client to see that night, and he couldn't disappoint.

* * *

 **Hello my lovelies! This story is one I'm pretty excited about. Let me know what you guys think and I'll hopefully post more soon!**

 **Review, Follow, Favorite, what have you! Thanks for dropping by!**


	2. The Good News

Desdemona Spire was nervous as hell. She stood at the podium in the Training Center Presentation Room (where the tributes normally did their skill demonstrations), looking up into the room where Seneca Crane, Plutarch Heavensbee, and President Snow sat expectantly along with her mother, Gus, Tress, and Finnick.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she began, her confident voice not betraying the shaking in her hands, "I present to you the District Four styles for the seventy-fourth Hunger Games!"

The music started and her preteen models started the show, "District Four is the fishing district, but we've been dressing them in nets and hooks for far too long. No offense, Mom and Tress," she smiled charmingly and the small crowd chuckled. "This year, I have taken inspiration from the folklore of the sea-faring district. Mermaids, Atlantis, giant squid, Davy Jones, all to communicate the richness of this District's history to all of Panem! Now for the Tribute Parade outfits!" she explained exactly as she had rehearsed in her bedroom the night before.

The two young models, meant to represent younger tributes that may come along, were dressed more conservatively than the older teens would be. The boy wore a golden toga with a painted seashell belt about his waist and golden gladiator sandals. The girl wore a pair of green scalloped tights and a gold mesh-like shirt that fell nearly to her knees with a blue seashell "bra" embroidered into the fabric.

"Our young male tribute wears a toga out of Roman mythos, meant to represent the power of the gods while our younger female tribute sports a playful mermaid-like pair of leggings and a golden organza top. The seashell accents on both outfits are changeable to suit the tribute's coloring, and should work to fit all body types." She explained as the young models strutted their stuff down the long, U-shaped runway and disappeared back behind the curtains.

"The older tributes will be a little more…shall we say, accentuated?" she said flirtatiously, her eyes locking on Seneca Crane. She'd known Seneca for a long time due to her mother's involvement in the Games, and they'd carried on a flirtatious relationship for a few years now. Desdemona was hoping that would help carry her to the Games.

The older tribute stand-ins made their way out onto the runway and Desi heard her mother and Tress gasp in delight. The boy's toga was gathered at the waist, leaving his chest exposed. The fabric of his toga was artfully tied over his left hip and secured with a conch shell pin, a small trident held back the model's long hair. He looked every bit like a sea god, perhaps even more so than Finnick.

But he was nothing compared to her female model. Desdemona could feel the air in the room still as the men in the audience held their collective breaths.

She was dressed in a skin-tight green trumpet skirt that highlighted her curves as it swayed gracefully. It had the same scalloped print that the tights had, but was all the more enticing this way, more of an actual tail than the mere suggestion. Instead of an embroidered bra, she wore an actual seashell bra that had been accentuated with some shimmer dust. This was under the open white linen shirt that she wore, which was wrapped about her in such a way to make sure the bra would be noticed. It closed just under her cleavage and was tucked into the skirt. The heels were the exact same green as the skirt and added four inches to the girl's already staggering height.

Desdemona knew that she had won the role of stylist right then and there, and she still had three outfits left to show them.

Once the music died down and the models disappeared backstage, Desdemona turned her attention to the President, who was already wearing the custom suit she'd made for him. She'd sent it to the Presidential Palace that morning.

"And I see our dear President Snow is already sporting some Spire Fashions of his own!" she said into the microphone. The President smiled good-naturedly and rose from his seat, turning so as to give the small audience a good look at his suit, "The suit itself is made from a highly experimental blend of silk and cashmere, Sir. Geneticists in District Eight have managed to splice the cashmere-making gene of a goat into the DNA of a silk worm and the result is simply amazing. I can only hope that you find it to your liking."

"My dear, this is a fantastic garment. It fits like a dream! I can only thank you for crafting it with your own two hands." He offered almost too congenially, waving a hand at her before resuming his seat.

Desi felt a rush of relief wash over her, "The pleasure was entirely my own, Sir. Now, shall we see the Interview Outfits?"

* * *

Desdemona popped the champagne and laughed wildly; she was not exactly sober. The call from Seneca Crane congratulating her on her position as a stylist for District Four males had come not ninety minutes ago, but a party was already in full swing. A load of her mother's friends and fellow stylists arrived, practically smothering her with praise and congratulations. A few of her friends from design school had shown up as well, but they sulked in the far corner, incredibly jealous of Desdemona's success at such a young age while most of them were still trying to get apprenticeships. The only one who came over was Cinna, a classmate who had graduated a few years ago.

"Congratulations, Desi!" he said over the music, kissing her on both cheeks.

"Thank you Cinna! So when are you going to put in your own bid?"

"I actually just got assigned to District Twelve females." Cinna was outrageously talented, and Desdemona had no idea why Seneca hadn't scooped him up sooner or why he had gotten assigned to District Twelve of all districts.

"Twelve?!" she exclaimed, the dismayed look on her face completely too obvious. "I mean, not that it's…oh, shit I've stepped in it now." Cinna smiled graciously, understanding her meaning.

"I asked for Twelve. It's a challenge, you know? Poor district with a kind of boring industry. I'm looking forward to it." He explained, sipping his champagne.

"If anyone can pull it off, Cinna, it's you. If you ever want to trade up, though, I will totally vouch for you." She said, patting his arm and excusing herself to go circulate some more.

The entire staff had brought their families and friends, so the smallish warehouse was full to the brim with people. Gus had had the foresight to order catering just after the phone call, and now sharply dressed waiters were roaming around between guests with plate after plate of delicious nibbles. Music was playing and people were chatting and Desdemona was the happiest she'd ever been.

Until, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Finnick enter the party. She watched his sea-green eyes scan the room, coming to rest on her. Under his gaze she felt giddy and calm all at once, or perhaps that was the four glasses of champagne she'd already had. She let him come to her, and as soon as he was within arm's reach he wrapped her in an enormous hug.

"Congratulations, Desi." She could feel his warm breath on her ear and it tickled. He planted a gentle kiss on her cheek and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face.

"Thank you, Finnick. I thought you had to leave right after the presentation?" she asked, running her hand down his tanned arm, feeling the muscle underneath.

He flexed a bit and she giggled, looking up into his god-like face. "I was able to work it out. I'm going back to Four in the morning."

"Really?" her voice betrayed her excitement but she didn't care. She was just happy that one of her best friends wasn't leaving her for the moment. Drinking had always made her short sighted like that.

Finnick smiled as well, "Really," the music came to a pause and one of her favorite songs came over the speakers, "May I please have this dance?" he asked, bowing lowly.

She took his outstretched hand and consented. He led her to the dance floor. Gently, as if handling a butterfly, he directed her left hand up to his shoulder and held her right outstretched at their side. Desdemona could feel her breath hitch in her throat as he pressed his chest against hers and started to sway to the beat.

 _When you're on a holiday_

 _You can't find the words to say_

 _All the things that come to you_

 _And I wanna feel it too_

 _On an island in the sun_

 _We'll be playing and having fun_

 _And it makes me feel so fine_

 _I can't control my brain_

For some inexplicable reason, the song calmed Desdemona. It brought about memories of Finnick's Victory Tour, when she had gotten to see District Four for the first time. It reminded her of the pure blue waves rolling up on the beach, the scent of salt in the warm breeze, his tanned, toned body, his bronze hair…

She let her eyes wander over the planes of his face. Obviously, he was handsome. Desdemona had never let that bother her before, but for some reason tonight he seemed especially gorgeous. There was something deeper lingering in his gaze, something just under the surface roiling about like an undercurrent.

And then her half-drunk brain realized what it was; Annie. She'd been dead less than forty-eight hours, yet here Finnick was dancing at a party in the Capitol when she knew he wanted nothing more than to collapse into his bed and not leave until he ran out of tears.

 _When you're on a golden sea_

 _You don't need no memory_

 _Just a place to call your own_

 _As we drift into the zone_

 _On an island in the sun_

 _We'll be playing and having fun_

 _And it makes me feel so fine_

 _I can't control my brain_

 _We'll run away together_

 _We'll spend some time forever_

 _We'll never feel bad anymore_

She suddenly felt sick, like she'd just drank some Makeroom and was about to empty her stomach. Her accomplishment of being one of the youngest stylists for the Hunger Games seemed so…empty. Hollow. Her joy was selfish when compared to his pain.

She stopped letting him guide her across the dance floor and gripped his hand tightly, leading him into the hallway that led to the bathrooms. There, she simply hugged him as she had when she visited him the previous day.

This time, he relented and hugged her back.

"Desi, I'm fine." He said unconvincingly into her deep red hair.

She scoffed, "You loved her. And now she's gone. You are most certainly not fine, Finnick Odair."

He ran a hand through his hair, "I mean I will be fine. Just…we have to keep this quiet okay? I can't afford for people to find out that she was my…"

"Girlfriend." Desdemona supplied and he clapped a hand over her mouth, pushing her back against the wall.

"Exactly. For my safety as well as your own, keep your mouth shut about her, okay?" His eyes flared at her and she was momentarily nervous; he was, after all, a Victor. He had killed people. What was to say he wouldn't do it again?

She dismissed that thought immediately. No, this was Finnick. Her closest friend besides Gus and Cressida. The paranoia was just the alcohol.

"Mmmph kumfff fff diffffoow." She revealed from behind his hand. With a smirk, he withdrew his hand.

"What was that, Miss Spire?" he asked.

"I'm visiting District Four in two months. Seneca gave me a grant to go research and gather inspiration from the district itself." She revealed proudly. Seneca had devised a plan wherein all first-year designers could visit their assigned districts or put the money into research and development for their outfits. As far as she knew, she and Cinna were the only first-years, and Cinna would've been heavily annoyed if he was going to visit District Twelve. But Desdemona had taken the Head Gamemaker up on his offer and in two month's time would be where very few Capitolines had ever gone.

Finnick paused, "Really?"

"Yes, really. I'll be staying in one of the empty houses in the Victor's Village. It's all arranged. I've even got my own tour guide." She smiled up at him, "His name is Jayne, he's a District Four scholar from the University."

Finnick looked playfully hurt, "A scholar? Some pompous stuffed shirt over a native?"

"Well, I don't really know many District Four natives." She suggested, her hands behind her back as she batted her eyelashes at him. Her eyes were the purest icy blue he had ever seen. Bluer than the sunny skies of District Four or the clear waters of the beach in front of his house in the Victor's Village.

He took a step closer to her and lowered his voice, "You know _me._ "

She stepped closer to him, emboldened by the alcohol in her system, "Oh, do I?"

The look in her eyes was dangerous, like she wanted to kiss him. He remembered her words from her sixteenth birthday; that she only wanted to kiss him if he wanted to kiss her. And, not for the first time, he found himself looking at her perfect, full lips and wondering what she tasted like.

He leaned forward until his lips were dangerously close to hers, "I should hope so. It's been almost ten years."

"And after all that time you've never invited me over to your house. That stings a bit." She didn't make a move toward him, but her heart was hammering in her chest. To her knowledge, she and Finnick had never been this close.

"I hope you can forgive my rudeness."

"I could forgive a lot from you." She admitted, tilting her head to the side and looking up at him. Her large doe eyes were wearing down his resolve. Annie had also had large, expressive eyes.

A pang of grief hit him right in the gut and Desdemona saw it in his face. He looked at the floor and the smirk fell from his lips. Desdemona backed up, her fingertips tracing a crack in the wall as she did.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." She said quietly.

He cleared his throat, "No, it's fine. I would gladly show you around District Four instead of putting you at the mercy of some snobby intellectual."

"I would love that." She was relieved that she hadn't stepped over a line; the awkwardness of her comments dissipating as quickly as it had appeared.

"As would I…" he shoved his hands in his pockets; Desdemona couldn't help but notice how adorable he was when he was bashful. She opened her mouth to reply, but just as she was about to speak her brother dashed around the corner. He caught sight of Desdemona and bustled over, gripping her arm and dragging her away.

"Desi, your public awaits!" he said flamboyantly, eyes raking over Finnick.

"My public?" Desdemona asked.

"Yes, everyone is expecting you to give a little speech! Maybe you should take the opportunity to announce your big trip?" he suggested, leading her away. Desdemona shot Finnick and apologetic look over her shoulder. He just smiled charmingly and winked.

"No, I think I'm going to keep that under wraps."

"Well whatever you say, make sure you thank President Snow."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because we've caught the attention of the media! There are cameras everywhere now! And don't think they didn't notice you sneaking off with Finnick, you naughty girl!" Gus gushed. He had always loved the idea of her and Finnick, but she'd been wary of the thought. As far as she was concerned Finnick had Annie, and surely someone from his home district was better than a spoiled Capitoline like herself.

But the fact that the media caught her dashing out of the room with him could prove beneficial; it could silence all the rumors of his relationship with Annie. But it would start rumors about him and Desdemona, which she wasn't sure she was ready for.

"Well, gotta keep our names in the headlines if we want to do business, right?" she played along, putting on her happy mask to hide the trepidation she felt. She'd never been one for public speaking, much preferring to have her work speak for itself, but she pushed those fears away as Gus pushed her onto the quick-set stage, a microphone in hand.

 _Here goes nothing,_ she thought, raising the mic to her lips.

* * *

Finnick watched her walk away with her brother, his ears catching the word, "cameras." He cursed inwardly, how could he think a party of this size wouldn't catch the eye of the ever-present media?

Having visited the warehouse-turned-fashion-house many times in the past nine years, he quickly devised a way out without being seen. If he was caught diving into darkened hallways with the stylist for his District, he was risking the support of possible sponsors. Not to mention ire of President Snow, which had proven fatal for too many people in his life. As he slipped out the side door and into the dark alley he momentarily felt guilty for not saying goodbye, but Desi would understand. This was his last trip to the Capitol until the Games started in four months, but she would be coming to visit him before then. He would apologize profusely and take her down to the beach, which he knew she loved, and all would be forgiven.

At least, he hoped so. There was no way in hell he could lose Desdemona.

Absolutely no way.

* * *

 **Just an FYI, my adoring public, updates will NOT be this regular. Unfortunately, I've got a few other stories I'm working on and one of them is a pretty big undertaking.**

 **That being said, Reviews help keep me motivated! I love hearing what you all think! Thanks for stopping by!**


	3. The Hole Truth

_Finnick was sitting on a bench in his Arena Launch Room. His limbs were shaking, his feet tapping incessantly. He could hear the door slide open and Desdemona entered. She was thirteen and skinny, her dark red hair only reached her chin and she hadn't started wearing makeup yet. She looked so innocent then, unburdened by the troubles life would eventually bring her. Her bright blue eyes looked at him from under her bangs and blinked._

" _What are you doing here?" he asked, breaking the silence. There were about five minutes left until he had to be in the tube. He hadn't dressed in his arena gear yet, hoping that putting it off would delay the inevitable rise into the arena above him._

" _Tress got sick last night, so my mom is helping your district partner. She sent me in her place." The girl said, taking him in, "You're not dressed yet?" She asked, pointing out the obvious._

" _I know that."_

" _Do you need help?"_

" _I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself, thanks." He stood and moved toward the outfit, lifting the hem of his shirt over his head. Desdemona turned around in embarrassment, but he ignored her and set about putting on the outfit. Black nylon pants, a grey long-sleeved shirt, and a hunter green nylon jacket with a deep hood._

" _All of the outfit is pretty light, I'm guessing a temperate climate. They used waterproof material; so expect lots of rain or dampness. But you're from District Four so I don't think that'll be a problem for you…Your interview last night is sure to get you tons of sponsors, so I wouldn't worry about that."_

" _What are you doing?" he asked, more than a hint of annoyance in his voice. He turned around and looked at her with anger in his eyes._

" _My mother said it's always nice to reassure the tributes before they go into the arena." She explained simply. Surprisingly she didn't back away from him, but held his stare until she pushed a hand into the pocket of her dress. It looked to Finnick that she had grabbed a tangle of cord that she started straightening and reached up to fasten around his neck._

" _I noticed you didn't have a district token, so I made this for you." She explicated as if she'd read his mind. A small, almost nonexistent weight rested on his sternum as she finished tying it and backed away._

 _He lifted his hand to it and pulled the weight off his chest. It was a seashell or, rather, the skeleton of one, attached to thin cords that had been woven together like the nets from back home._

" _You made this?" He looked at her with wide, unbelieving eyes. Why would she have done this for him? Wasn't he just a piece in their Games?_

" _Not the seashell part, I found that in one of my mom's boxes of District Four stuff. I braided the cords myself, though." He could see her becoming insecure about her present to him, her eyes flicked to the floor, "You don't have to wear it if you don't want to. It was stupid…"_

" _No," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "It was really thoughtful of you. Thank you, Desdemona." She raised her eyes back to meet his and they stood there, she put her small hand on top of the hand that rested on her shoulder and smiled. The girl standing in front of him confused him. Why was she being so kind? Why wasn't she telling him that he should be honored to go into the Games like everyone else did?_

 _He decided her motives didn't matter, and that if he was heading to his death in the arena there were much worse people he could be spending it with._

" _Fifteen seconds to launch," the computerized voice said, interrupting their staring contest. Finnick dropped his hand and turned to face the clear tube, the shaking returning to his limbs and fear creeping around the corners of his mind once again._

" _Finnick," She said from behind him, putting her small hand on his shoulder as he had done to her a minute ago._

 _He looked back at her over his shoulder and smirked, "Thanks for everything, Desi." Stepping into the tube, he kept his eyes on her and the smirk on his face, "I'll see you on the other side."_

 _The tube closed and he started to rise. Before he disappeared completely, Desdemona gave him a small, adorable wave. Even then, he knew he would never forget the Capitol girl who gave him his district token. Not that he would want to._

* * *

Finnick awoke with the sun streaming in through his open bedroom window. He could hear the waves crashing on the beach outside. He was not back in the arena, he was home. District Four. The Victor's Village. His bedroom. His bed.

He sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed and onto the cool tile. The sun streamed in through his bedroom window and he crossed to it, looking out onto the spectacular ocean view.

The District Four Victor's Village was situated on top of some ocean side cliffs, about two miles from the District Center. Each of the twelve houses boasted stunning views of the cliffs, along with access to the white sand beaches and turquoise water that lay below them. They had their own private harbor down the beach a ways, where Finnick's father and a few other victors kept their boats.

Only five of the houses were occupied, now that Annie was dead. Finnick, as the most recent Victor, had the house at the end of the row. Mags's house was closest to the entrance, followed by Kai, a quiet man in his mid to late fifties who kept to himself, then the childless Tad and his wife Elisa, then Isla and her husband and three young children, and then Finnick. Annie had lived in the house next to his, but it had been cleared out by the time Finnick had returned from the Capitol. He still couldn't even look at it without a painful clench in his gut.

How many good times he had in that house. How many times had he broken in when he heard her having a panic attack, how many sleepless nights spent by her slumbering side in case she had night terrors?

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. There was a hole inside him where Annie used to be, but the hole was becoming easier to live with. It had to, because today was the day Desdemona was supposed to arrive in District Four for her scouting mission.

For the first time in months, he felt something other than gnawing grief in his gut. He was excited for Desi's visit, and had been looking forward to it since she told him about it. He checked the time and saw that her train was due in an hour and a half, which gave him plenty of time for a morning swim. He changed into his suit and made his way outside, pausing to grab an apple from a bowl on the countertop.

"Going for a swim?" his father asked, looking up from the fish he was scaling at the opposite counter.

"Yeah, care to join me?" Finnick said after biting into the crisp green apple. His father, Johann, regarded him from under his weathered brow.

"Naw, you go on." Finnick nodded at his father and ducked out of the house without another word.

He exited his house and walked down the long wooden staircase the led from their patio down to the beach. The sun was shining brightly with not a cloud in the sky, a perfect day for a swim. The water was warm as he walked out to waist height, then dove right in.

The waves were pretty low, which made for an easier swim as he worked on his breaststroke. The water washed away his guilt and helped ease his grief for the time being. Unfortunately it was only a temporary fix, as he had to return to shore. He lay on the warm sand for a bit, baking in the sun and letting the salt water dry onto his skin.

He lay in the sun for a while, letting his mind wander, not thinking about anything in particular, when he heard footsteps approaching. Sitting up, he saw Mags approach him. In one hand she carried her tackle box, in the other she held her fishing rod. She wore her typical large straw hat that had once belonged to her husband as she staggered across the sand. Even at her age with her particular disabilities, she insisted on catching at least one fish per day from their private harbor. Finnick often joined her.

"Hey Mags." He said congenially, letting her come to him. She was in no particular rush (no Victor ever was), so she sat down next to him, Finnick taking her arm to help her down to the sand. She mimed her query as to his mood, indicating that she knew he had something on his mind.

"A friend of mine is coming in from the Capitol today," he explained. Mags raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head, denying her assumption, "No, not like that. She's the District Four boys' stylist. She's coming to do some research on the district."

Mags nodded, an air of suspicion about her. It was the same suspicion that his father had expressed about the Capitoline visitor, and indeed about the Capitol in general, the night previous.

"She's different, Mags. She's not like the others, I think she could actually be a really big asset to us." He explained and the elderly victor nodded dubiously.

"I'm serious! She's smart and dedicated and loyal. To her, the Games are just a meal ticket. She sees what tributes go through, she saw what happened to me and…she knows how horrible it is. All of it. I'm hoping that if she sees what happens out here in the Districts that she'll join us. We need more people on the inside, and you know it." He explained. Mags looked at him like she knew something he didn't and asked him what her name was with her sign language.

He smirked, "Desdemona. Her name is Desdemona."

Mags circled her face with her hand and smiled at him. His smirk turned into a smile and he answered her question, "Yes, Mags, she's very pretty. You've met her, Calpurnia's daughter. But…it's too soon. And she's from the Capitol. Even if she isn't completely like them, she and I are just…too different."

Mags placed one hand on his shoulder and turned his torso toward her, then placed the other hand over his heart. She paused there a moment before placing a hand on either side of his face, looking directly into his eyes for a minute before patting his right cheek and moving to stand up. Finnick rose to his feet and helped her up, handing her the tackle box and rod.

"I'll see you later, Mags. Maybe I'll bring Desdemona by to meet you?" Mags nodded at the suggestion and made her way down the beach, slowly disappearing from view. Finnick sighed and took heart at her last message as he mounted the staircase. She had told him his heart would heal, and when it did he should welcome new love.

In the weeks following Annie's death he wasn't sure he would ever heal. But now, a few months removed from the devastation, the noxious gas of grief that had settled in his torso had mostly dissipated and the hole in his heart was easier to deal with. It would never go away completely, he knew, but perhaps there was room for other things in his life now.

The worst was over, he thought, and now he could start to move on.

* * *

 **So kind of on the short end of the chapter-length spectrum, but I think it's kinda nice. We got to see a little of District Four, some Finnick introspection...not bad if I say so myself.**

 **Than again, I'm biased. Let me know what you think in a review!**


	4. The First Day

From the minute they entered the fence surrounding District Four, Desdemona was enraptured by the passing landscape. It had been nearly a decade since she'd walked along the sandy shores and smelled the salty air. Her rapture was almost enough to drown out Jaxton's droning on about projected fishing yields and average profit/losses for the District in general. Almost, but not quite.

"And while the cod population was a little lower than expected, the shrimp population absolutely boomed! The price damn near bottomed out!" Jaxton exclaimed. He was a Supply Manager in the Capitol for Districts Three and Four, which meant that traveling to those Districts was part of his job. He had happened to be going to District Four for some quarterly meetings, so they were stuck on the same train. Her escort from the University had had to cancel at the last minute due to a horrible reaction to a new skin tint, so it was just her and Jaxton.

He wasn't exactly an unpleasant man, Desdemona thought, but he was incredibly dull and not very interesting to look at. In fact, Desdemona thought he resembled a colorful walrus with his big gelatinous belly, tiny round spectacles, and long unruly moustache that he had dyed a horrendous orange. The thinning hair on top of his head was dyed the same color, but there wasn't enough of it to hold the color effectively. She briefly wondered why he didn't get a wig, but then quickly decided she didn't care.

She nodded politely when prompted by his pauses, but mostly looked out the window. She had never seen so much blue in her entire life. The rail tracks ran right along the coast after passing through the District barrier, which made Desdemona practically giddy with excitement. She couldn't wait to feel the sand between her toes, the warm wind ambling through her hair, the waves pushing past her as she waded in.

Desdemona loved the beach. If she were able to live anywhere, she would live in the District Four Victor's Village in one of the many beautiful houses overlooking the sea. She would learn to swim and go for a dip every morning. Every afternoon she would lay on the beach with a book and listen to the waves crash as she baked under the warm rays of the sun.

Yes, she loved the beach. But a part of her also loved the chilly winters of the Capitol. Cozy sweaters and adorable boots, the first snowfall and hot chocolate. Sitting by the fireplace with a book and listening to the flames sputter and crackle. That was home to her.

The thought of her home left a bitter taste in her mouth at the moment. Her mother, despite constant insistence that she trusted Desdemona, would not stop bothering her about her designs. Calpurnia had promised to leave the Hunger Games to Desi and Desi alone, but so far that had proved to be difficult. She kept giving Desi unwarranted advice and criticizing nearly every part of her work so far.

Not only that, but she had been not-so-subtly pushing her daughter toward Seneca Crane. He had been to the fashion house a few times to check on progress and Calpurnia had grossly misjudged their flirty banter. Ever since the she kept pestering her daughter about him.

"Are you sure you want to go with the teal? That could drain your poor tribute."

"I think Seneca would just love this. Why don't you set up a meeting with him? You two could go get lunch together afterward."

"The cut on this is all wrong. A three-quarter sleeve would be better than these silly little caps."

Just before leaving for the train station, Desi had blown up at her mother, which led to a screaming match, which led to Desi storming out. Her comm had rung twice since she left the city and when she checked it she had two messages from her mother. She deleted both of them, not willing to let her mother ruin her trip. She could deal with her when she got back.

The train started to slow and Desi's heart sped up. Barely able to contain her excitement any longer, she excused herself from Jaxton's presence and went back to her compartment to gather her luggage.

When the train came to a full stop at the station, Desdemona was standing right at the door, bags in hand. The door slid open and let in the warm breeze and she sighed audibly. Relief flooded her veins as she stood on the platform with her eyes closed. She could smell the sea and the sunshine and the special lotion the locals made to help protect their skin from sun damage.

"Horribly hot isn't it?" Jaxton asked rhetorically as he stepped out into the sun. He was wearing a black wool suit that, while perfect for the spring air of the Capitol, was far too much for the warmth of the seafaring District. Desdemona had changed into a light, flowing sundress in anticipation of her arrival.

"I think it's wonderful!" she contradicted him, spinning slightly so her dress flared out from her legs.

"Hey ballerina!" a familiar voice shouted from the turn styles to her right. Desdemona turned and saw Finnick standing just beyond them, a pearly grin on his handsome face. Beyond him were two cars parked along the curb. One a sleek black town car with two Peacekeepers waiting outside it and another behind the wheel, and one shiny red convertible that sat empty, as its owner was standing closer to the station awaiting her.

Desdemona sashayed over to him, passing her bags to him so she could get through the barrier. Once she did she pulled him into a tight hug, pushing her face against his broad chest. He smelled like the District, with a hint of lemongrass and musk.

"Well hey there, Desi. Did ya miss me?" he asked, hugging her in return.

"You left without saying goodbye, ass face! Of course I missed you!" she extracted herself from him and playfully smacked his chest before she smoothed out her sundress.

She took a moment to note Finnick's ensemble as he picked up her bags, chiding her briefly about how heavy they were as he brought them over to his car. He wore a simple white linen shirt that opened halfway down his chest and some khaki shorts. He was not wearing shoes, which confused her but was also classic Finnick.

As he closed the trunk of the car he noticed her smirk, "What are you smiling at?"

She giggled a bit, "Your lack of shoes."

He looked down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes, "Damn, I knew I forgot something."

"Forgot or left behind?"

"Pick one." He said, putting his hand on the small of her back and guiding her around the car to the passenger side. He opened the door for her and continued, "When it's warm enough, I find shoes are more of a hindrance than a necessity."

"Of course you do." She smirked at him, taking his hand as he helped her into the car. He shut the door and moved over to the driver's side.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked in mock offense, starting the car.

"You're not one for rules and conventions. It's not a bad thing at all, in fact it's probably what makes you so appealing. Oh, crap," she said, noticing that Jaxton was through the gates and heading their way. Probably to introduce himself to the famous Victor. "Go, go, go!"

Finnick turned the key and put the car in gear, rolling away from the approaching walrus just as he reached the spot Finnick had parked in. Desi visibly deflated with relief and leaned back against her seat, looking over to Finnick.

"So what are we doing today?" she asked, letting her head drop back against the headrest. She'd been so excited to arrive now that she was there she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than a long nap. Allowing her eyes to close, she relished the warm wind flowing through her hair as the car picked up speed.

"I thought I'd give you some time to settle in and then we'd go down to the beach. I figure you're here for a whole week, there's no rush. Plenty of time for sightseeing and research and whatnot."

She nodded her head and smiled, "Well, if what you're wearing is any indication I may have to send my tributes into their interviews barefoot."

He chuckled, "I'm sure Caesar would love that."

"It'd be a wonderful conversation starter." She concurred. Their mirth quickly faded, as it often did when the Hunger Games was brought up. Desdemona cleared her throat and lifted her head, noticing a large dome-covered structure coming up on their left.

"That's the District center, right?" she asked, nodding her head toward it. She'd seen the structure when she'd come on Finnick's Victory Tour for the Harvest Festival. Underneath the large metal dome was the village square, where he'd had his Feast Day to conclude his tour. In addition to the dome, the square had retractable walls in case of hurricanes. The people of District Four would go there to be protected from the severe weather.

"Yep. Stores, a small market, the Justice Building. All the Capitol-approved stuff." He explained briefly, eager to change the subject.

"Am I to understand that there are Capitol unapproved places in District Four?" she asked leadingly. As soon as the words left her mouth, though, she regretted them. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I didn't mean to sound like a Capitol spy. I'll just shut up and stare at my hands now."

She did just that, lowering her gaze bashfully to the delicate hands in her lap. Finnick smirked and moved his arm off the backrest, grasping one of her hands in his, "You're fine, Desi. I know I can trust you."

She smirked as well, "Thanks, Finnick." His confidence in her was comforting. Despite what he had them believing, Finnick didn't confide in his Capitoline lovers while they spilled their darkest secrets to him. Earning his full trust was no easy task, and Desdemona felt a rush of pride that she had indeed earned it. "The feeling is mutual, by the way." She added as they passed the District Center.

Finnick made a left turn onto an unpaved road and the large metal dome disappeared behind some rocky hills. She didn't remember this part of the District, but she knew it led to the Victor's Village. She'd spent the night there after Finnick's Feast Day, but had been asleep when the Peacekeepers escorted them there. She'd awoken the next morning to a breathtaking view of the sea outside her window and still remembered how the sun had glinted off the waves, a thousand moveable stars welcoming her into another day of existence.

Soon enough, she saw the gate with the arched sign above it. 'VICTOR'S VILLAGE' it declared in rusty metal letters. Desdemona could see the houses just beyond that, all arranged in a large horseshoe, each one boasting a coastal view on the u-shaped outcrop. Finnick pulled the car into the garage of the fifth one from the archway and parked, killing the engine.

He looked over to her, "Well, here we are. Home sweet home."

"What? You sleep in here?" she joked, looking around the two-car garage. The other car spot was taken up by a small sailing boat, its mast folded down and a large hole in its hull. The room smelled like salt and oil and paint, as she imagined many District garages did.

"No, smartass," he said, getting out of the car and moving to the trunk to retrieve her bags, "Inside."

She sighed, opening her door and exiting the car, "Oh, gotcha…where are you going?" she asked as he started heading out the open garage door with her bags.

He turned back to her, "You're staying in a house by yourself, right?"

She rubbed her right forearm with the opposite hand and scuffed her shoe against the concrete floor, "I was sort of hoping to stay with you. If it's not too much trouble, of course. I'd hate to put you out."

Finnick paused. Of course they had enough room; it was just he and his father in the five-bedroom, three-bathroom house. But a spoiled Capitolite refusing the comforts and privacy of her own house in the Victor's Village just didn't compute for a second. All of the previous visitors he'd had insisted on staying in their own house, sometimes switching between a few different ones if they liked the views better in one or the other at certain times of day.

However, those had been wholly different types of guests. Desdemona was here as his District's stylist, but she was also his friend. Whom he just admitted to trusting.

"Oh…of course. I've just…never had someone stay with me before." He explained after realizing he'd been silent for too long. He snapped out of his daze and walked back toward her and into the door to the house, "Mi casa, su casa."

"What does that mean?" she asked, following him into the house.

"Something like 'my house is your house' in the Old District Language." He explained. The language was mostly dead now, only fluently spoken by the elderly population of the district.

"Hmm…I like it." She concluded, following him into the foyer of the house. Looking around she noticed that it had a delightfully open floor plan, the kitchen directly in front of her but the dining room and living room were within sight. As were the gigantic windows that looked out over the patio and the ocean. She was immediately drawn to them, moving through the living room and planting her feet in front of one of the windows. She sighed at the view. Below her, stretched as far as the eye could see, was nothing but water and waves and sunlight and sky.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked from her right, startling her slightly. She turned and faced a man who looked exactly like how she imagined Finnick would in twenty year's time. Noble, handsome features, tanned skin that had perhaps seen too much sun, and bright red hair that was peppered with gray. She recognized him from Finnick's Tour as his father, Johann.

"Yes, it is. I don't know if you remember me, but we've met before. Desdemona Spire," she introduced herself, turning to face Johann and offering her hand for him to shake.

He hesitated, but a small half-smile broke out on his face that looked exactly like Finnick's, "Of course I remember you, Desdemona. Wonderful to see you again, although you've definitely grown up!"

Desdemona chuckled slightly, "I suppose I have. Finnick tells me you've retired?"

"Yeah, I put the ol' fishin' boat to rest against some shoals about twenty miles down the coast. Figured that was a sign to give it up."

Finnick smirked a bit as he watched the exchange between Desdemona and his father. She'd surprised him by offering to shake his hand, Finnick could tell. His father's trepidation at having a Capitoline guest seemed to be melting away with every sentence she spoke; his posture relaxed a bit and he engaged in conversation instead of keeping it terse.

They made polite chit chat about the boat in the garage, how Johann was fixing it up slowly but surely, how she was excited to see the District, et cetera before Johann dropped an uncomfortable question.

"So, were you one o' the ones Finnick was getting' on with-"

"Dad, we should let her get settled in. C'mon, Desi, I'll show you to your room." He interrupted, glaring at his father, who shrugged exasperatedly at his son as he ushered Desdemona up the stairs.

Silently, he led her down the hallway to the third door on the left; an empty guest room right next to his own, with a spectacular view and a private bathroom. It was a corner room and had floor-to-ceiling windows on both walls, so he knew she'd prefer that one. Desdemona entered and gasped; Finnick smirked a little at her rapture of the ocean. It was adorable how she was so entranced with something he saw every day.

"Do you like it?" he asked redundantly and she turned back to him, nodding enthusiastically. "Bathroom is through there, closet through there," he said, gesturing to each door in turn before grabbing a remote from the nightstand, "This controls the blinds, if you want to dim the light in here a bit."

"Oh, I don't think that'll happen." She smiled, turning back to look out the windows. She pulled her arms into her chest resting her chin on her hands, which were wrapped together. Her bright eyes scanned the horizon and Finnick couldn't resist the joke.

"Would you like me to leave you and the view alone for a while?"

She chuckled, "Yes please."

"Well, in that case," He moved toward the door and she stopped him, unfurling her arms and grasping his forearm before he could move too far away.

"Thanks Finnick. This is perfect," she yawned, dropping his arm so she could cover her mouth politely, "I'm going to rest for a bit, then we can hit the beach?"

Finnick nodded, momentarily wondering what sort of bathing suit she'd brought. There were swimming pools in the Capitol, so she probably owned at least one. Part of him hoped for a two-piece, but he shook the thought out of his head abruptly.

 _Too soon, dammit,_ he chided himself as he cleared his throat, "Sounds great. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

"Okay. I'll be here." She joked, motioning to the window. He laughed as he exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

Desdemona looked out the windows again, completely captivated by the rolling waves, the consistency and constancy of it. It was hypnotic, the shades of blue and white and grey crashing over each other in a dance that never ended.

She could feel the lightning bolt of inspiration hit her and moved toward her bag, opening the front pocket and extracting her sketchbook. Despite how tired she was, she couldn't help the twitchy sensation in her fingers as she madly sketched one, two, three designs in a row.

Oh yes, she loved District Four. The week ahead, she knew, would prove to be quite successful.

* * *

 **Chapter 4 is here! Originally Chapters 3 and 4 were one big chapter, but I figured I could split it up and still make it work. Hope you enjoyed it!**

 **Thank you all for the follows, favorites, and reviews!**

 **Speaking of which, I would absolutely love if you reviewed this chapter! Let me know what you think!**

 **I absolutely adore you all!**


	5. The Old House - Rewrite

**This chapter has been rewritten! I decided to get rid of a slapdash plot point and replace it with something a little less melodramatic. Let me know what you think!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Finnick hadn't said much about their destination that morning; only that it was "somewhere special." In truth, Desdemona wasn't sure where else in the District she had left to see. Over the last five days they'd been to the Town Square, the Docks, the Fish Market, and even gone out on a fishing boat where Desi had caught her first fish. Then she promptly got sick over the side of the boat when the captain tried to teach her how to gut and filet the fish. Finnick had tried unsuccessfully to hide his laughter at her expense as he stroked her back and pulled her hair out of her face.

The previous evening, while they ate their customary dinner on the beach while the sun sank over the horizon Finnick had gone quiet, only answering her questions with noncommittal grunts as he stared out to sea. His eyes had flicked up to the house next to his on the rocky outcrop, and she took a risk.

"That was her house, wasn't it?" she asked quietly. Part of her hoped he didn't hear her question. She'd tiptoed around the subject of Annie during her whole visit, but she couldn't anymore. It was a giant elephant in the middle of the room; one that she was hoping would disappear if she could only get him to talk about it.

He sighed, "Yes. It was."

"I can't imagine what that's like; losing someone you love like that," She blurted without thinking, her eyes still on the house on the cliff above.

"No. You can't." His words were laced with bitter anger that surprised her. He was right, of course. Desdemona had lost her father, but he had died when she was merely two years old; his loss hadn't really affected her. Something told her losing a lover was a whole different experience than losing a pet, which she had experienced a few times in her life.

Finnick rose to his feet and walked toward the ocean, wading in until the waves lapped around his waist. She knew she had said the wrong thing, but was he mad at her or the Capitol? Or was he mad at her because she reminded him of the Capitol? Either way, she didn't want to make it worse for herself by continuing to bother him with her presence. Kicking some sand over the embers of their bonfire, she traversed the staircase back up to his house.

That night her sleep was troubled, plagued with nightmares of what Seneca had shown her for this year's games. They'd gone to dinner before she left. Not a date, he assured her, but a farewell sendoff before her big trip. Not many Capitolians would choose to visit past District Two, and she was going all the way to District Four. After their dinner (and perhaps one too many champagne cocktails on her part), he brought her to the Arena Control Center. Perhaps to impress her, but she had wound up terrified for the poor tributes. She was careful not to show it, but she went home that night and cried for her future tribute.

She awoke the next morning feeling more tired than when she had gone to sleep the night before. Now she sat in Finnick's bright red roadster and stifled a yawn as the wind whipped through her dark red hair. Should she tell him? He trusted her with his secrets, so why was it so difficult for her to trust him with this? Something deep inside her told her it was unethical. But weren't the Games themselves unethical? In this case, would two wrongs make a right? If Finnick's tributes were prepared, maybe they would have a better chance of surviving. However, surviving the Games could lead to a worse fate.

Her eyes drifted over to one such survivor, watching as the wind teased his bronze hair. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, but she knew they held the mysterious twinkle they usually did. Man alive, he was handsome. Desdemona yawned and stretched herself over the lush leather seat.

He smiled over at her, last night's transgressions seemingly forgotten, "Sleepy?" She managed a nod in response.

"Lean your seat back, take a nap. We'll be on the road for a while anyway." He suggested, pushing a button on the dashboard that raised the roof over their heads. She nodded again, pulling the seat latch and pushing it back.

"Wake me when we get there." She said quietly as the wind and sun slowly faded from view.

 _The Arena Control Room smelled new and unused, like a car fresh from District Five. Seneca flicked a switch and everything powered on, illuminating the stark white and chrome room. In the middle of the round continuous computer console, a holographic map of the arena flickered to life._

" _So that's the arena. Pretty basic deciduous forest with a river and a mountain over here," he indicated the spot with his long pointer finger. She had taken his arm politely on the walk over from the restaurant, and now he held her arm as if he owned her. Other than that, he was a perfect gentleman as he escorted her around the room so she could look at the arena in full._

 _It wasn't the most impressive arena she'd seen, but she suspected that was on purpose._

" _That will make the tourist crowds happy," she commented, noting that some may even choose to camp near the sites of the most grisly deaths. Her stomach turned, and it wasn't from too much alcohol._

" _Do you want to see some of the obstacles?"_

" _Oh, I don't-" But he had already dropped her arm and started typing something into the computer console._

" _We have the classics, you know, poison plants here and there, that sort of thing," he started, flicking through the standard list of obstacles, "But this year, we've got a few new features._

" _And what might those be?" She asked politely as he heart rate picked up._

 _He poked around the console and about twenty red dots appeared at various places on the map. "See those?" Desdemona nodded and he continued, "Tracker Jacker nests."_

" _What?" She made herself sound impressed rather than disgusted, "I thought those were discontinued after they made that one tribute kill himself a few years ago?"_

" _They were, but I convinced Snow to reinstate them. These tracker jackers are less lethal individually. They'll still kill if a tribute pisses off the whole hive, but a few stings should only cause hallucinations."_

" _Interesting."_

" _And, watch this," he pushed a few more buttons and the entire mountain began to shift, the craggy cliff that jutted out from one side slowly moving to the other. "This was added to prevent too many tributes hiding out on the mountain. Or for some extra drama during a particularly good fight."_

" _Right," She knew she should answer with more enthusiasm, but she couldn't muster it. All she could see was a tribute, a teenager, losing their footing as the mountain shifted beneath them._

 _But the grand finale," Seneca started, his voice full of excitement, "the grand finale is going to go down in Hunger Games history."_

" _Oh? And why is that?" The reply left her lips before she could stop it. Something in the back of her mind told her she didn't want to know._

 _Seneca glanced at her sideways, a flirtatious look in his eye as he punched in the last few keystrokes. In the middle of the room where the map had been now sat a pack of wild dogs._

 _Desdemona's heart clenched and breathing suddenly became difficult. She had had dogs her whole life until recently. Not the tiny little purse-sized dogs that most of the Capitol had. Her mother had always insisted on having large Danes or mastiffs._

" _D-dogs?" She tried to hide the tremble in her voice, looking to Seneca for confirmation._

 _He nodded and rose to his full height, puffing out his chest a little, "Exactly. This is the big idea that got me promoted this year," he stated proudly, smiling at her from behind his meticulously kept beard, "And that's not all."_

" _Oh?" Desdemona's hands were sweating as she clenched them around the handle of her purse. She was glad she cut her nails short, otherwise they would be embedded in the palm of her hand so deep it would've drawn blood._

" _As the little extra something, each of these mutts is fully customisable. Whichever tributes are left will have to fight mutts that look like each of the other competitors."_

 _Her mind flashed the briefest picture of what it would be like to be mauled to death by a dog. Not only that, but by a dog that looked like someone she knew. Perhaps someone she trusted. Or crushed under a rotating mountain, or stung to death by tracker jackers. Her stomach dropped out from her torso._

 _Many horrific deaths would happen this year. The Seventy Fourth Hunger Games would surely go down in history as one of the most gruesome._

 _She was a part of this. She was helping to make this atrocious event happen. Hell, she made a tidy profit off of the death of innocent children._

 _It suddenly felt like an elephant was sitting on her chest. Her vision tunneled and she could feel herself start shaking with nerves._

" _Desdmona, what do you think? Desdemona?"_

* * *

"Desi…Desdemona, wake up!" Finnick said, shaking his friend's shoulder harshly. They'd nearly arrived at his childhood home in the outer reaches of the District when he noticed it. He could tell by her creased brow and the light sheen of sweat that she was having a nightmare. His pulse quickened as he pulled the car to a lurching stop on the side of the dirt road. His heartbeat slowed considerably when she opened her large blue eyes, blinking at him sleepily before widening in panic.

Before she could open her mouth, Finnick had a gentle hand on each side of her face.

"It's okay, it was just a nightmare. You're safe. You're with me." The words came to him as a reflex, a long-honed skill. Her eyes focused on him and he could feel her tension slowly leave her body.

"Here," he said, reaching into the cooler in the back seat and extracting a bottle of water, "Drink this."

She took it and he couldn't help but notice the slight tremble in her hands as she unscrewed the top and took a long pull from the bottle. Her breathing was a little ragged still, but she appeared to be calming down.

"Do you need a hug?" he asked gently, knowing that physical touch could help calm a panic.

Desdemona nodded and he opened his arms. She shrunk into his chest and gripped his arms as they closed around her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, again as gently as possible. The scent of her jasmine perfume wafted into his nose as he felt her tense slightly. Suddenly, she pulled away from him and returned to her seat, clicking her seatbelt back into place.

"Just drive." She said quietly, carefully avoiding his gaze. He nodded a quick affirmation and turned the car back on, speeding away from the side of the road. Desi was quiet for the rest of the car ride, allowing him some time to reflect on what had just happened and how much it reminded him of Annie.

He had always thought of Desdemona, indeed any Capitol citizen he'd ever known, as untouched or unaffected by the depression and anxiety that permeated the Districts. Surely they had no reason to be depressed; they had enough food, and many of them didn't need to work because they lived in constant excess. And if they found themselves with an excess of anxiousness, they'd simply self-medicate with any number of freely-available Capitol drugs. Finnick had seen it up close and personal. How many needles had he prepared for his various lovers? How many drinks had he topped off? How many pills had he sorted through?

Yet there she was, sitting in the passenger seat of his car staring out the window. From the corner of his eye he could see faint tear tracks down her lovely cheeks. Whatever it was that had given her the nightmare was still bothering her. He knew better than to push his way in, though; that could cause irreparable damage to their friendship. As he turned into the small driveway of his childhood home, he resolved that he wouldn't ask her about it again. If she wanted him to know, she would tell him.

"Where are we?" she asked as he killed the engine.

"This is where I grew up. I wanted you to see it before you left tomorrow." He gestured to the small wood paneled house that was little more than a shack. However, in his mind, the small house before them with its peeling paint and leaking roof would always be home. The large front porch of the blue-painted shanty seemed to welcome him. He could still see his mother standing on the top step holding baby Shell in one arm, waving after him and his father as they headed off to the docks.

A sniffle to his right broke him out of his reverie, and he turned to see that Desdemona was trying to stifle sobs behind the sleeve of her light cardigan. Big tears spilled from her blue eyes, making her mascara run a bit.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, moving to place a hand on her shoulder.

Before he could, she jerked away, "Finnick, I saw something. Before I left. The arena."

The words hung in the air as he tried to process them. "Wh…what?"

"Seneca Crane and I had dinner -."

"Oh you did, did you?" He taunted, not really wanting to hear the rest. He didn't like the spark of jealousy that flickered in his chest either.

"Yes," she looked down at her hands, tightly clasped in front of her, "And I think he wanted to show off or something but he took me to the control room."

"Desi, I don't know if you should keep talking,"

"I want to tell you. I feel like I have to. You have to know what your tributes will be up against." she interrupted him, the words spilling from her mouth as she looked back up at him. Her eyes darted about frantically and a slight tremble returned to her gestures.

He gripped both of her hands in one of his and nodded, "I understand. But if it gets out that you told me, that wouldn't be good for either of us."

She retuened his gaze and took a long, steadying breath, "It makes me sick, the way they talk about people - children - as if they're expendable. Treating them to...terrible, awful deaths that one wouldn't wish on their worst enemies. And I'm trapped. Without the Games, I might as well be a coal miner in Twelve."

Finnick could hear the guilt and remorse in her tone, and it poked a hole in his heart. He had driven her out to his childhood home because he knew for a fact that the Capitol didn't bug it. His plan was to ask her to join the rebellion (what little of it there was) and he needed a quiet, secure place to do so. He had known for years that she didn't like the Games, but now, even though he could only imagine what horrible things she'd seen, he knew she'd join.

Finnick approached her, and she allowed him to put one hand on her shoulder while the other cupped her cheek.

"Let's go inside and I'll make us some tea," He offered and she nodded gratefully. He held her hand as they walked up to the rickety porch, but dropped it so he could unlock the door. "Technically, my father and brother still live here. If something happens to me, my dad will have to move back here."

"What about your brother?" she asked quietly, looking around the small main room. To the left were the stove and a small sink and counter that made up the kitchen. The kitchen table was pushed into the far corner with three chairs pushed in under it. His father's old leather chair had been brought to the new house in the Victor's Village, and the spot it sat on the floor was still empty. His mother's wicker chair still sat by the colorful straw rug where Finnick and Shell would play as children.

"Shell lives here. When he's not out on the crab boats, that is," he explained, trying to hide the sad tinge to his voice. Once he was old enough, Shell had taken one of the most volatile jobs in the District. The crab boats left for months at a time, worked in the most dangerous conditions, and generally the crews came back a person or two smaller than when they'd left. Many of his childhood friends had lost parents that way.

"Oh. Looks like he's been gone a while." She commented, standing toward the center of the room.

Finnick nodded, "I think he's been gone about three months now. He calls my dad from the boat once a week."

"He doesn't call you?" Finnick remembered that Desdemona and her older brother shared a close relationship; the idea of not talking to her sibling upset her greatly. She'd called her brother at least once a day since her visit and spent well over an hour on the phone with him each time.

"Shell found out what the Capitol makes me do. He thinks that I asked for it. When I explained that I didn't, it sort of slipped that my mother's death may have been connected. He blames me for her death. Not that he's wrong, of course – "

She took a step closer to him and took his hand, "Hey, you were not responsible for her death. That was Snow. He did it. He's responsible."

Finnick couldn't help but smirk as he raised his eyes from the rug to her, "Funny you should mention that."

* * *

Desdemona couldn't believe what he was saying. A rebellion? Against the Capitol? The last time that happened had been called the Dark Days, and it was what started the Hunger Games.

She had taken a seat on the old wicker chair, leaning forward with her head in her hands as she tried to absorb all of the information. Her hands were clammy and her pulse was thundering in her ears, the topic of conversation had made her nervous.

"How do you know we aren't being listened to? The Capitol – "

"The Capitol doesn't care about this house. They wouldn't bother bugging it." Finnick explained coolly from his seat on the chair across from her. She didn't quite believe him and, as if he sensed it, he continued by reaching into his pocket. "And just to be sure, I've got this."

Desdemona immediately recognized it as a signal-jammer. The odd oblong metal devices had recently been banned in the Capitol because a handful of Capitol citizens had taken to carrying them on their person to prevent being overheard. President Snow had gone on national television and declared such objects as, "unpatriotic and indicative of criminal activity on the part of the carrier."

Desdemona was silent as a debate crashed through her mind. She was making a mental pro/con list about joining such a revolution, trying to make a decision based on rationality rather than gut instinct. If she was going to commit high treason, she wanted to be damn sure she was on the winning side.

He'd told her about District Thirteen, how it still existed and how the President there was willing to lend firepower to the rebellion. All they were waiting for was a spark, a symbol behind whom to rally the people of the Districts. He hadn't given her a list of names, but he told her many of the Victors from non-Career Districts were behind it, along with a few highly powerful Capitol citizens, including a Gamemaker. It was a lot to wrap her head around.

She leaned back in her chair and sighed, running a hand through her hair like she did when she was nervous.

Her head and her heart came to an agreement. She made deliberate eye contact with Finnick, her cool blue eyes clashing against his sea green ones.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

Finnick smiled his dazzling smile, "Nothing yet, beautiful. Just be prepared."

"Prepared for what?" she asked.

"Revolution," He answered.

* * *

 **So there you have it! Let me know what you think!**


End file.
